Valentine
by Moonchild1212
Summary: Response to Muffilato Valentine's Day challenge: You then have to write the contents of a Valentines card FROM that person TO Severus. AU/ SS-HG


This is a response to the Muffilato Valentine's Day Challenge which read: a Snapey Valentine challenge. Message me if you want to take part, then I'll reply with the name of a canon character. You then have to write the contents of a Valentines card FROM that person TO Severus. It can be filled with genuine affection, sarcasm, a to-do list, a mean prank... it's up to you!

I started out with a simple Valentine, but the story took a more involved turn. I hope you enjoy reading! I had fun writing it.

Valentine

He swallowed thickly as he looked down at the parchment, a valentine, which ended in:

If you would offer me this

A Kiss.

His fingers trembling . . . a kiss?

* * *

Severus had just come from the Great Hall, which looked as though it had been liberally doused with the most vomitus shade of pink imaginable. Leave it to Dumbledore to further increase his ire. Since it was found that the Old Bastard was indeed not dead but had merely been under a stasis spell until Voldemort had been defeated, the old man had been nothing but a thorn in his side. He had refused to tell Severus exactly how he had thwarted the Avada Kedavera, and he had been encouraging him "get out more" and even "find a nice girl."

To top it off, he had realized, after his oath was fulfilled, that the emotions he felt for Lily had been a product of his vow to the Bastard Superior. Oh, he still felt a great deal of love for the friend he had lost, but gone were the obsessive thoughts and constant dreams. Now, he spent his time obsessing about how he might knock off King Bastard without getting caught. If he had had any other options, he would certainly not be working at Hogwarts. As it was the Ministry was all up in his every orifice. He had been very close to serving a healthy portion of his remaining life in Azkaban, but thanks to Saint Potter, the Old Bastard, and Miss. Granger, he was a . . . relatively free man.

And, to make his life even sweeter, instead of being able to mourn the fact that he had not died in that bloody shack alone, he was forced to see the girl, no, the woman who had saved him, every blasted day. He felt a sense of obligation to Miss. Granger that only came with a life debt, and fuck him if he didn't want another fucking debt to any Merlin forsaken soul. He wanted to live his life out in peace without the wretched life debt or the pasty face tarts and hangers on who were constantly plaguing him about his heroic sacrifice and his supposed life –long devotion to Harry Fucking Potter.

Fuck Potter, Fuck Dumbledore, and Fuck Valentine's Day. He couldn't even get laid with a normal woman; the only ones who threw themselves at his feet were those brainless, crazed idiots who believed him capable of heroics. He had been close to giving in a time or two, but Merlin help him; he didn't want to be stuck with another loony, drunken bint following him around like Trelawney after a staff party.

Such were Severus' thoughts as he stormed out of the Great Hall and down to his peaceful offices in the quiet dungeon of Hogwarts. His Slytherin knew better than to make noise, particularly on a holiday and specifically on THIS holiday. That was before he had opened the letter.

Once in his office, he had closed his eyes, hand still on the door knob, and breathed in deeply. It hadn't helped that Miss Granger, no Professor Granger had been sitting next to him. She had joined the staff after completing College and had apprenticed under Minerva for a year. She had been teaching Transfiguration and Minerva had begun taking a larger hand in the running of Hogwarts. It seemed that the Old Bastard was almost ready to retire. Miss. Granger had begun prattling to him the moment she had sat down by him a year ago, when she had made full professor, and she still hadn't shut up since.

He never said anything to her. In the morning, he drank his coffee, ate his eggs and sausages and grunted as she bid him a good day. During lunch, he ate his gravy covered meal and suffered through her commentary concerning her morning classes and the sad state of the reading comprehension of her first years, and at dinner, he listened to her prattle on about how the Potter brat's potty training was going or who the famous Quidditch star, Mr. Ronald Weasley, currently had on his arm. The only interesting bits he fully focused on where her discussions concerning her own research. She tended to mingle various fields together, and it was astounding to listen to her mind at work, when one could get beyond the fact that they were listening to Miss. Granger.

Dumbledore had spoken to him about THAT as well. "You should extend the same respect that your colleagues extended to you when you began teaching here, Severus. Please call her by her title, Professor. How are the students going to respect her if all of her colleagues will not?" He had asked.

"I don't bloody give a flying fuck." He had said and stormed out of the office only to run into the chit, who greeted him, "Professor," with a nod.

Unable to capitulate to the Old Bastard and feeling mildly guilty about his staunch refusal to acknowledge her as anything other than a former student and current pain in his arse, he had grunted and nodded dismissively at her greeting.

Yesterday morning, however, had been different. He had responded to her greeting of "Good Morning," with a nod and a reply, "Professor." He had then listened to an even more exuberant reply than usual. She was evidently excited about the Valentines Dance, and she regaled him with the details of the shopping trip she had taken with Mrs. Potter to pick out the perfect dress for said dance, and would he be attending?

He had sat mutely for a moment and had looked over at her expectant eyes, which were not brown as he had always assumed but rather a lovely shade of caramel. They seemed to glow with excitement. It was then that his world had shifted on its axis.

Would he be attending? He couldn't stop himself from responding snarkily and sneering, "of course I'll be attending. I have no choice!" He had huffed and looked away, but not before he had seen the look of excitement in her eyes or noticed the demure set of her shoulder juxtaposed with the shy tilt of her face as she smiled up at him. He had been unable to finish his breakfast and had left in a huff, but he had noticed that she took every opportunity to stop him whenever and wherever their paths happened to cross since then.

In the library, she had found him in the restricted section researching the particulars on bowel flora in various species of hinkypunks. She had sidled up close to him and placed her hand on his arm. For the life of him, he couldn't have spoken if he had been beset by a charging Hippogriff and his soul had depended on it, and he couldn't remember what she had asked him.

Then, this morning, after a tantalizing view of her cleavage in the tightest and most daring set of red robes he had ever seen her in, she had told him that she was "looking forward to seeing him this evening." He had turned to look at her in order to gauge her expression. He was use to being teased; Hooch had often harassed him about his lack of bed partners and the fact that he could stand to put a little time into his appearance.

No one had ever told him that they were anticipating their next meeting with him. People typically avoided him, and he wondered just what Miss. Granger . . . Professor Granger was up to. Her smile had been genuine, and her glowing caramel eyes had peered up at him through thick lashed. She had licked her lips, and his eyes had been drawn to her pink tongue and her lips . . . her glossy, red lips. It was at that point that he had turned abruptly and left the table without replying.

He had left as a new volley of owls descended upon breakfast, and he could still hear the rapid fluttering of wings that had filled the room.

'Thump,thump,thump." He had heard the beating of wings on his own window and walked across his office to let the bird in. It had been a lovely snowy owl with white and black speckled plumage. The intelligent creature had looked at him with large yellow eyes and held out its foot patiently. Removing the parcel gingerly; he had given the bird one of the treats he kept on his desk. It squawked happily at him before leaving in a flurry of flapping feathers.

He had been more than a little wary of the package wrapped in heavy, read paper. He sniffed it, but had smelled no lingering odor d' Trelawney, who smelled heavily of patchouli and cheap whisky. After casting a few detection spells, he had opened the small rectangular package to find a note and a golden box without a label. Opening the package, he had found it filled with some of the finest dark chocolates he had ever seen. It was his weakness. Dumbledore often left chocolates in the staff lounge during holidays. Any one of his colleagues could have spotted his feebleness to withstand the draw of dark chocolate. He had also indulged on several occasions during the evening meal, when something of the dark chocolate nature had been served for dessert. So, it could be that a student noticed his proclivity.

After an exhaustive set of detection spells on the sweets, he had broken one open and sniffed. It had contained a sweet cherry inside with the most divine hint of fine brandy emanating from the sticky syrup. He had smelled no hint of any potion. Pressing it to his tongue lightly, he had detected nothing amiss. So, he had popped it into his mouth and groaned with pleasure. It had been delicious, and he had licked the sticky substance off of his fingers and chose another as he seated himself at his desk. Whoever had given it to him could likely go get bent, but that had not stopped him from enjoying the treat.

He had begun opening the missive, sure that it had likely been sent by Dumbledore or even Lucius and Narcissa, who despaired that he would never settle down. The letter opener had slid through the unobtrusive, cream colored paper as if it were butter. And with a "snick" the envelope had gaped open revealing a bit of folded, unremarkable parchment. He had pulled out the paper to read:

The fountains mingle with the river

And the rivers with the ocean,

The winds of heaven mix for ever

With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single,

All things by a law divine

In one another's being mingle—

Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,

And the waves clasp one another;

No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdain'd its brother;

And the sunlight clasps the earth,

And the moonbeams kiss the sea—

What is all this sweet work worth

If thou kiss not me? –

Love's Philosophy , by Percy Bysshe Shelley

* * *

Meet me beside the red rose bush,

If you would offer me this

A Kiss

Happy Valentine's Day

Hermionie

* * *

If you enjoyed this, I hope you will take a look at my other story, Under Your Spell, which was recently finish. I do love feedback, and I always respond to your comments. Thank you for reading!


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